


Ends of the Earth

by leahxleah



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, M/M, Other, Party, Profanity, no one is straight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:55:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1533410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leahxleah/pseuds/leahxleah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Amis stumble home from a party after a successful protest, breaking off into couples. Feelings are discussed, avoided, and embraced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Combeferre and Courfeyrac

“Courfeyrac, you’re drunk,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire laughed. Courfeyrac, for his part, only grinned at the two of them, swaying back and forth with the gentle wind, and then sitting down on the grassy hill.

“ ‘m not!” Courfeyrac declared. “’m celebrating! I love all of you fuckers! I love that we scared the government shitless—“ he wobbled dangerously, then flopped into Combeferre’s lap. “Love ya,” he slurred up at Combeferre, who adjusted his glasses to stare down at the curly-haired man. 

“He’s hammered,” Grantaire remarked, laughing.

“You drank as much as him,” Enjolras pointed out.

“I was already intoxicated. In fact, I almost constantly am—by your presence, oh Captain, my Captain—and that means I’ve built up both a tolerance and an appreciation,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. 

“Gay,” Bahorel crowed, and Feuilly promptly shut him up by kissing him, hard. As soon as they broke for air, Bahorel murmured, “Gay—“

“—Combeferre,” Courfeyrac continued, reaching up to stroke Combeferre’s face, “’m the moth to the light that—your heart—“ he frowned, looking for the right words. “—that came out different than it was ‘posed to.”

“I’m sure it was charming,” Combeferre said, taking another sip of his beer, gazing out over the city. “Great night, though. Warmest we’ve had in weeks.”

“Mm,” Courfeyrac replied, and only then did Combeferre look down at him again.

“What happened to your shirt?” he asked, and Courfeyrac frowned down at his torso.

Courfeyrac swallowed, looking back up at Combeferre with large, brown eyes. “Global warmin’.”

“Leave your pants alone—“

“—love y—“

“—okay, you’re done,” Combeferre said, gently nudging Courfeyrac off his lap, standing up, and then tugging Courfeyrac to his feet. “Home time. Do you need help walking?”

Courfeyrac swayed in response.

“Alright then,” Combeferre replied, bending down slightly to wrap Courfeyrac’s arm around his neck, and then starting off into the night. Their first few steps were uneven, but after a while, they stabilised, their feet falling in sync against the slick grass.

“Dew?” Courfeyrac asked, and Combeferre nodded in response. “What time…?”

“Four.”

“Afternoon?”

“Morning.”

Courfeyrac smiled loosely, shaking his head, then bending over to rest it on Combeferre’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna go.”

“You’ll feel terrible tomorrow.”

“Sunrise,” Courfeyrac said. “We—we should—sunrise.”

“There will be other sunrises.”

“With you?”

“What do you mean?”

Courfeyrac lapsed into silence, staring up at the lightening sky, watching the black water itself down into a dark blue. “What if—today was—“ he waved a hand around wildly, gesturing at the sky, “—the last?”

“It is,” Combeferre replied. “Every day is its own first and last. That’s the way time works.”

Courfeyrac looked over at Combeferre, then stopped dead. Combeferre halted with Courfeyrac, letting the other man push his glasses up off his face. He traced Combeferre’s nose, and then the delicate skin beside his eye, smiling. After a minute, Combeferre coughed, his face flushed, and he pulled back, putting his glasses back on his face.

“Time to get you home,” he said.

“Today is the last today,” Courfeyrac muttered. “’m gonna miss today.”

“There’ll be another day tomorrow, and it will be a today in its own right.”

Courfeyrac sighed, leaning heavily on Combeferre. “Philosopher.”

“No, I just took one class—“

“—shh,” Courfeyrac silenced him, placing a finger on Combeferre’s lips. “My philosopher.”

“Okay.”

“Plato was a liar,” Courfeyrac slurred, looking up the sky nostalgically, as though he had been there and was remembering what   
it had been like. “He loved Socrates, but Soc—he never did—those things. He just asked, ‘Are you sure?’ ‘nd Plato saw stars behind his eyes.” Courfeyrac leaned in close, pressing his forehead against Combeferre’s. “All,” he laughed, “the constellations.”

Combeferre swallowed. “You never liked astronomy,” he said, smiling weakly and looking away.

“You did.”

“I liked the calculations, the logic. You liked the idea of aliens, and the professor said there was no such thing.”

“Arrogant,” Courfeyrac muttered, shaking his head. “’s like thinking that there’s only me, when you—you’re right here.”

“Stars don’t really line up in shapes. We just think they do from where we stand,” Combeferre said. “To me, you’re one solid shape, but you’re really thousands of molecules that just so happen to line up that way.”

“You’re a glorious constellation,” Courfeyrac said, grinning. “So—bright! Even when I close my eyes—“

“—Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said softly, “that’s just the vodka talking.”

Courfeyrac went quiet, staring at Combeferre for a long time and then back out at the road again, letting buildings pass them by as he stepped carefully along the pavement. His normal walking pattern had become almost a dance, and Combeferre chuckled a few times as Courfeyrac hummed a tune and offered Combeferre a waltz.

“Grantaire ‘s brave,” Courfeyrac said after a while. “So, so, so brave. A knight.”

“How so?”

“’e loves Enj,” Courfeyrac said, smiling sadly. “’nd says so. Enj says nothin’, but Taire—a knight. Paris’ finest.”

“Yeah,” Combeferre replied. “Bravest man I know.”

“Me too.”

“But loving someone—silently,” Combeferre looked away. “That’s—“

“—cowardly,” Courfeyrac finished, nodding. 

After a minute of silence, Combeferre asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Plastered.”

“Think you’ll remember any of this tomorrow?”

Courfeyrac paused, tilting his head to the side, considering. “Dunno.”

“Okay.”

“Ferre,” he said quietly, “’m a coward.”

“No you’re not,” Combeferre said, grinning, shaking his head. “You seduce people all the time. Sometimes by accident. And even when you fail—like with Jehan—you just keep trudging forward, because you’re so brave.”

“No, ‘m—“

“—do you remember when we first met? Someone had passed out in a back alley, and I was afraid of getting mugged, so I didn’t want to go back there—but you sprinted down it anyway, and called an ambulance—“

“—you came,” Courfeyrac said. “Just—took a second. ‘s normal.”

“No, Courf. You’re incredibly brave. A knight in your own right.”

Courfeyrac laughed, but his smile quickly morphed into a sad one, when Combeferre realised the expression hadn’t reached his eyes. 

“Do you want to sit down? I’ll call us a taxi—“

“—no,” Courfeyrac waved him off. “I wanna walk with you.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Such a gentleman,” Courfeyrac grinned sardonically. “The kind they warn you ‘bout.”

“How so?”

“’Cause, you’ll love them, but they’re—just—like that. ‘S not you. ‘S who they are.”

“Gentlemen can’t fall in love?”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “Love—‘s for criminals. For the ugly. ‘S not neat, clean.”

“I’ll be an ugly criminal, then,” Combeferre said quietly.

“You can’t be!” Courfeyrac declared. 

“Why not?”

“’Cause—because—today is the last today. And because ‘m a coward, ‘nd—“ Courfeyrac’s conversation collapsed in on itself, and he stared at Combeferre searchingly. He wound his hand through Combeferre’s hair, ducking his nose into the crevice between Combeferre’s neck and shoulder, breathing in deeply. 

Combeferre waved down a taxi with the arm that was not wound around Courfeyrac, and when the car pulled up, he climbed into it, giving the driver Courfeyrac’s address. Courfeyrac protested gently, but was too far entwined in Combeferre to actually do anything about the direction the taxi took.

After a minute of driving, Courfeyrac’s breaths slowed and deepened, and Combeferre allowed himself to turn and look at the other man, who was half bent around Combeferre to keep the same position. Courfeyrac’s hand fell slack out of Combeferre’s hair, landing on the back of his neck.

He shifted slightly, his muscles cramping under Courfeyrac’s weight, but only nudged him awake when they pulled up alongside Courfeyrac’s apartment. He paid the driver and propped up Courfeyrac, walking up two flights of stairs and unlocking the front door with the hidden key, all the while supporting the limp frame draped over his shoulder. 

Once they were inside, Combeferre placed Courfeyrac just under the sheets, tugging off his shoes and socks, but leaving him otherwise clothed. As soon as Courfeyrac’s head hit the pillow, he was asleep, his breathing even deeper than before.  
Combeferre turned quickly, placing Courfeyrac’s socks in the laundry basket, and then headed out of the room. He was only one step outside of the bedroom door when he heard Courfeyrac mutter, “Combeferre.”

Silently, he crept back in the room again, kneeling next to Courfeyrac’s bed. He hadn’t stirred; he’d been talking in his sleep.   
Combeferre leaned over Courfeyrac, tucking him in again, and then brushing the curls off his face. “You’re not a coward,” he whispered, patting Courfeyrac’s hair gently. After a moment of contemplation, he leaned down and pressed his lips to Courfeyrac’s forehead, softly and noiselessly. Courfeyrac didn’t stir. He couldn’t bring himself to smile. “I am.”

As stealthily as he could be, he crept out of the apartment, letting the spring air consume him, only to find it was not as warm as before. The only trace he had ever been there was the way Courfeyrac clutched the pillow next to him.


	2. Feuilly and Bahorel

“Hey, fire crotch, wanna hit the road?” Bahorel asked, and Feuilly shrugged, but stood up, looking around for his coat. After a minute of futile searching, he asked for help.

“Hey, Bossuet, have you seen my coat?” 

“What colour is it?” Joly replied, looking around Bossuet, who had just stared blankly at Joly in response. 

“Red—“

“—with revolutionary fervor!” Grantaire chipped in, and Enjolras elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

“Nope,” Joly replied, and Feuilly sighed, running his hand over his face. 

“I might have left it at the protest. I’ll go look for it tomorrow,” he said, sighing, and Bahorel nodded, shoving his hands into his   
pockets. “Bye guys!”

There were a few hollers back, but Feuilly suspected many of them were already passed out on the grass. Bahorel walked beside   
him with even steps, and Feuilly glanced at his watch, whistling in appreciation.

“Four in the morning. Damn.”

“You working tomorrow?”

“In the afternoon.”

“You’ll be tired—“

“—I’m always tired,” Feuilly said, grinning sheepishly.

“Has your mattress still been giving you trouble?”

“It’s really no big deal.”

“You’re too young to throw out your back—“

“—I don’t have any other options—“

“—you could always bunk with me,” Bahorel pointed out.

“On your couch?”

“No, the bed.”

“I won’t make you sleep on the couch,” Feuilly protested.

“We can share my bed,” Bahorel said, his hands deep in his pockets. “You know, in a no homo kind of way.”

Feuilly gave him an exasperated look. “I wouldn’t want to make you question your fragile masculinity.”

“It wouldn’t be in a gay kind of way—“

“—fuck, Bahorel, we’ve had sex.”

“Yeah, but not gay sex.”

Feuilly paused, resisting the urge to drive his face into the streetlight. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a man.”

“Of course I noticed.”

“And you’re a man.”

“Duh.”

“When two men have sex, it is gay sex. Homosexual sex. As in, sex between two members of the same gender. Gay.”

“Nuh-uh,” Bahorel protested, “we were drunk. Lots of gay dudes sleep with chicks when they’re drunk, and then they’re still gay the next day.”

“We’ve had sex multiple times! We weren’t drunk all of those times!”

“Actually, I had a beer before every time.”

“One beer doesn’t make you drunk—“

“—it inhibited my decision making skills,” Bahorel concluded. “Therefore, no homo.”

Feuilly groaned, shutting his eyes. As soon as he opened them, he began to rub his hands up and down his arms, keeping himself warm.

“You’re shivering,” Bahorel pointed out.

“Great observation.”

“You’re mad.”

“Again, great observation. Maybe you should go back to law school—“

Bahorel wrinkled his nose up, and Feuilly laughed. Bahorel looked down at Feuilly, who was significantly shorter than him, shifted from foot to foot, then unzipped his hoodie, handing it to Feuilly.

“What’s this?”

“Hoodie. You’re cold.”

“I’m afraid I can’t accept this on the grounds that it might be a little gay—“

“—shut up,” Bahorel said, shoving his hands in his jean pockets instead. Feuilly smiled at him, and then pulled it on.

“Thanks,” he muttered. 

“You should crash at my place, tonight.”

“Wanna be the big spoon, or the little spoon?”

“Little shit—“

“—I can make you breakfast,” Feuilly said. “I’ll put a shot of vodka in your orange juice, so you can accept it on the grounds that your decision making was affected, and therefore, you’re allowed to be a lil’ bit homo—“

“—dick—“

“—careful, you don’t want anyone to overhear you mentioning male genitals—“

With that, Bahorel scooped up Feuilly, throwing him over one shoulder. Feuilly shrieked with laughter, then jammed his fingers up Bahorel’s armpits, eliciting a laugh and Bahorel swinging Feuilly around. When someone turned on a light in a building adjacent to them, Bahorel put Feuilly down, although his hands lingered around Feuilly’s waist.

“How many beers have you had? Does it fulfill the recommended amount?”

“Enough,” Bahorel replied gruffly, leaning down to kiss Feuilly, hard and affectionately. His mouth soon drifted down to Feuilly’s neck, and then Feuilly stepped back, gently pushing Bahorel off. Bahorel stepped forward again, reaching toward Feuilly again, and then he read the other man’s facial expression and stepped back again. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m bi. You know that, right?” Feuilly asked. “Everyone else knows. I came out six months ago.”

Bahorel shifted from foot to foot. “So?”

“So, I’m comfortable with myself. But I get the feeling you’re not comfortable with me.”

“You’re my best friend,” Bahorel replied.

“You’ve been my best friend for forever,” Feuilly said, nodding. “But I don’t know that you can love me.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Me being happy.”

“Aren’t you happy?”

“For now,” Feuilly said. “But you won’t even have sex with me unless you’ve had a beer. That hardly screams commitment.”

“And you want that?” Bahorel asked. “You want hand holding and shit?”

“No,” Feuilly said petulantly.

“What do you want, then?”

“To be able to share your bed without you saying no homo. To have sex—completely sober. And I don’t think you’re interested in that. So we might as well cut our ties now, right? So we can stay friends?”

“We are friends,” Bahorel said, brokenly.

“Right, because that’s all this ever was. Two guys, just—“ Feuilly gestured at nothing, “—having drunk sex.”

“Fire crotch—“

“—you can’t give whoever I date any shit, okay? No shouting ‘Gay!’ every five seconds—“

“—Ginge—“

“—and we’ll just go back to the way things were before.”

“A year ago?”

Feuilly paled. “Has it been a year?”

“A year today.”

“Bull.”

“No bull. I have it marked on my calendar.”

Feuilly’s jaw dropped. “Why?”

Bahorel shrugged. “Dunno. Figured—maybe—I mean, it sounds so fucking stupid, but I figured we could do something? Go get drunk? But the protest was today, so…” Bahorel shrugged again.

Feuilly abruptly sat down on the curb, putting his head in his hands. “No homo.”

“What?”

“No homo. You forgot to say, ‘No homo.’”

Bahorel sat next to him. “That’s…not that gay.”

“You marked our anniversary.”

“I do that for the day we met, man,” Bahorel said. “Our bro-versary.”

“Why?”

Bahorel looked down at his hands. “I told you that you were my best friend forever when we were ten. I meant it.”

“Stop it,” Feuilly said, hanging his head between his knees. “You’re making this hard for me.”

“How is hard for you? You’re the one who’s off to a bigger, brighter future with some damn replica of Robespierre but gay—“

“—fuck, man, I love you,” Feuilly said, looking up to glare at Bahorel.

Bahorel scoffed gently, pressing his forehead against Feuilly’s. “You’re so damn slow. I figured that out when I was fifteen.”

“Gay.”

“So gay.”

“Full homo,” Bahorel added, tipping his chin to kiss Feuilly, warm cheek bones brushing and lips parting. 

After fifteen minutes, Feuilly stood up and Bahorel followed, his hands still cupping Feuilly’s jaw. 

“I have to work tomorrow,” Feuilly reminded him.

“Ten minutes, flame thrower,” Bahorel said, pressing their noses together. “I can get you off in ten minutes.”

“Is that a challenge?” Feuilly asked, bouncing on his heels.

Bahorel grinned. “Damn right. Hey, there’s Combeferre. Hey, Combeferre!”

The two got a fake smile and a curt wave in response as Combeferre waved over a taxi, disappearing into the night. Feuilly leaned into Bahorel’s shoulder, and Bahorel wrapped an arm around Feuilly until he hip checked Bahorel.

“Listen here, marmalade, that was supposed to be romantic—“

Bahorel wished he could savour the sound of Feuilly’s laugh for a larger portion of eternity.


End file.
